Chapter 6: The Unwelcome Truth
The hotel room was a sterile cocoon of anonymity. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the city's lights twinkle like a field of fallen stars. The black dress lay discarded on the pristine bed, a shed skin from the battle. My body hummed with a strange, electric fatigue. I had faced them down. I had held my ground. The cold satisfaction was still there, but it was now edged with a new, sharp anxiety.
Silas's calculating gaze. Liana's venomous smile. They were predators in a gilded jungle, and I had just strolled into their midst and declared myself part of the food chain. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind the stark reality of my situation. I was alone, playing a game with stakes higher than I could comprehend.
A familiar, dull ache began to pulse low in my abdomen. Cramps. I glanced at the date on my phone. It was right on time. My body, at least, was still adhering to its old, reliable schedule. A morbid thought flickered: At least I'll know for sure soon enough.
The thought was a bucket of ice water. Know what for sure?
The possibility I had so coldly engineered in Silas's study. The biological gamble I had taken with my own body. The potential consequence of that calculated, brutal encounter.
A wave of nausea, unrelated to the cramps, washed over me. I stumbled into the lavish bathroom, bracing myself on the cool marble counter. My reflection in the mirror was pale. The woman who had coolly faced down Silas Sullivan was gone, replaced by a terrified girl staring into an abyss.
What if it had worked?
The plan had seemed so clean, so sharp in my mind. A weapon. A key. A means to an end. But the reality was a potential life growing inside me. A child. His child. A living, breathing creature born not of love, or even of passion, but of vengeance and cold strategy.
My legs gave way. I slid down the cabinet onto the cold tile floor, drawing my knees to my chest. The image of Lysander and Lyra, their small hands clutching mine, their laughter echoing in a sun-drenched garden, seared behind my eyelids. The overwhelming, ferocious love I had for them. The soul-crushing grief of their loss.
Could I do that again? Could I love a child conceived in such darkness? Or would I look at it and only see its father? See the means of my revenge? The child would be a tool, a constant, living reminder of the night I'd sold a piece of my soul. It would be a Sullivan, through and through.
And what would Silas do?
The question was a jolt of pure terror. He wasn't Kaelen. He wasn't a self-obsessed boy who would simply neglect and resent an unwanted child. Silas Sullivan was a strategist, a man who built empires. An heir—a true blood heir, not an IVF miracle—would be the most valuable piece on the board. It wouldn't be a child; it would be an asset. His asset.
He wouldn't let me walk away. He wouldn't let me raise it. He would take it. He would absorb it into the Sullivan dynasty, and I would be the vessel discarded after delivery. All my plans, my revenge, would be for nothing. I would have handed him the ultimate victory on a silver platter.
A sob caught in my throat, harsh and dry. I had been so focused on destroying Kaelen, on securing a position of power, that I had completely overlooked the terrifying reality of my own plan. I had wanted to build a fortress, but I might have instead built my own prison and placed my future child at the center of it.
The cramps intensified, a deep, twisting pain. A part of me, a shameful, desperate part, prayed for them to get worse. For my body to reject the possibility. For nature to provide a brutal, bloody solution to my impossible dilemma.
But another part, the part that was still a mother, recoiled in horror at that thought. The instinct to protect was too deeply ingrained, even for a child that was a product of darkness.
I curled into a tighter ball on the cold floor, caught in a war between my mind and my soul. My mind screamed that a pregnancy would be a catastrophe, tying me to Silas forever, making me vulnerable. My soul, the part that still remembered the weight of a child in my arms, wept at the thought of wishing away a life.
I don't know how long I lay there. The city lights continued to glitter, indifferent to my crisis. Slowly, the tears stopped. The shaking subsided. The cold tile against my cheek grounded me.
There was no going back. The dice had been rolled the moment I walked into that study. Worrying and praying were luxuries I could not afford. I had to prepare for every outcome.
I pushed myself up, my body aching. I washed my face with cold water, the shock of it clearing the last of the panic from my mind. My reflection was still pale, but my eyes had hardened again. The resolve was back, tempered now by fear, but unbroken.
I had to know. I couldn't operate in the dark.
I left the hotel before sunrise, finding a 24-hour pharmacy in a less glamorous part of the city. I bought three different brands of pregnancy tests, paying in cash, avoiding the cashier's eyes. Back in the sterile hotel bathroom, I lined them up on the counter like soldiers.
The wait was an eternity. Each second stretched out, filled with the pounding of my heart. I couldn't look. I stared at the ceiling, my hands clenched into fists.
Finally, the time was up.
I forced myself to look down.
One after the other. Three little windows. Three identical, cruel, definitive answers.
+
Pregnant
Yes
The word screamed up at me from the plastic sticks, bold and undeniable. My gamble had paid off. The weapon was real. The key was forged.
I sank onto the closed lid of the toilet, my breath leaving my body in a silent rush. There was no more doubt. No more uncertainty.
The game had just changed forever. And the most dangerous piece was now hidden inside me.